


An Unexpected Vacation

by ThereAreWorseFics



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Other, Pirate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 17:02:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereAreWorseFics/pseuds/ThereAreWorseFics
Summary: Nathanos did not expect his newly minted ship to be destroyed like fragile glass, yet here he was among the pirates, running away from one Jaina Proudmoore.





	An Unexpected Vacation

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Krimzie who proofread this.

If one was to dive deep into the vast blackness that dwelled not so far beneath the ocean’s surface, they would find that the view above their head was one of horrible beauty born of fire, ice and dead bodies. And one undead one fighting to stay out of the way of stray spells that illuminated the scene of the crime named Blightcaller’s Solitude. The ship was floating in so many pieces that not one was heavy enough to be pulled down by the force of gravity to blessedly conceal Nathanos as he hid from the wrath of one Jaina Proudmoore.

_The daughter of the sea_, he bitterly thought as he watched his ship from the blackness of the ocean depth he dared venture before the pressure made even his undead flesh hurt. _What a sorry excuse of a daughter. The seas all around Azeroth should disown her like her parents did. The only sensible thing they did in their sorry lives._

Blightcaller’s Solitude was a welcome gift from Sylvanas to him, if unexpected. She did not smile as she had led him to the docks nor as he watched her wave her slender hand to show the ship to him. She did not smile as Nathanos approached closer with his gait strutting a few paces before stopping. _No, smiling was beneath such a goddes_s, he thought.

“And what maiden voyage should she embark on?” He did not look at his new ship as he asked, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing he liked it oh so very much. He did his best to not show his satisfaction with _all_ the carefully picked gifts, especially in a public space like this. “What mission does await me?”

Only when he was at open sea did Nathanos allow his hand to gently trace the ship’s black wood and appreciate the design and utter power it exuded. The power that was shattered like glass beneath Alliance ships thirsty for blood and revenge as he led them on a merry chase as south as he could for as long as he could. The Maelstrom was strong here and it was inexperience that decided his defeat, as a sailor he was not, and certainly not like a Proudmoore.

A very angry Proudmoore who took until sundown to end her vigil over the waters in case he did something utterly moronic, like show his face. The undead did not need air and he used that to win this waiting game. He was a hunter and in _that_ he did have plenty of experience. Nathanos glared at the sea scavengers he did not even know the names of gather round for the feast. They’d find him no easy target if they dared come near. He still had his dagger and his teeth.

When he did dare breach the surface most of what remained of his ship was scattered far apart, already starting to succumb to the strong currents. He found a plank more out of habit than anything as the stars illuminated the dark waters in the night. It was... boring. He’d take training newly minted Forsaken recruits over this, this... peace. Hell, he’d take on one of the two moons that was surely glaring at him and probably calling the ships back to finish him off. Unless it only communicated with the night elves.

Damn, he should have thought of that.

Speaking of nature lovers, he needed to find a suitable sea vermin to tame so it could bring him back to shore; his eyesight was just as human in undeath which meant more waiting until dawn. More... peace.

He pressed his forehead on the plank and willed his mind not to start dwelling on things that were irrelevant. Like his beard and hair growing just a tad bit longer than he preferred. He looked positively like a pirate now or at the very least a drunkard. Things he could not change. Saurfang’s escape from death and justice and with that sidekick of his no less. The fact that the Horde had to go and beg for Zandalari ships while he was stranded in the middle of nowhere, useless while his Lady needed him. Was she alright? Surely she was, he’d know if she ever...

He hit his forehead against the plank. He hated peace.

The early hours of the morning found him angrily growling at any albatross foolish enough to approach him. Something else found him too. A small ship bearing no name and no flag sailed smoothly towards him. Since his efforts to find anything tameable besides flying vermin proved disastrous and no, he was never going to think about that sea turtle again, thank you very much, he contented to being run over by a ship.

“There’s someone in the water!” A voice was heard as the side of the ship pushed the waves to sway him along with the plank. He assumed the Captain made an order as a single rope was thrown down to him. Wasting no time Nathanos climbed up, noting only three guns on each side.

Two pairs of rough hands manhandled him onto the deck and forced him to kneel. The hands had no pulse. He raised his eyes to survey the crew. He could see four from this angle, mismatched clothes on all of them and satisfied grins on their faces. All undead. Curious.

“What shall we do with him, Captain?” the one holding him down on the left side asked.

The Captain moved into Nathanos’ field of vision, the only one looking the proper part. His face was decidedly not Gilnean._ Not from Lordaeron either._ He mused as he studied the handsome face, the facial hair and a nasty scar running the entire length on the left side. Must be necromancers that decided to turn to piracy out of convenience. When you needed neither food nor water sailing turned from a nightmare of managing resources to a vacation. One that was cut short for him by the thrice damned Alliance witch.

“Captain Derek?” the pirate repeated.

Derek was studying him in turn and by the expression on his face, found him lacking. Two could play that game. “Derek?” He smirked, putting all effort into appearing as irritating as possible and making his nose hate him for it. “What a... _Kul Tiran_ name.”

Considering Nathanos was who he was, the fact that the Captain didn’t throw him back into the ocean spoke volumes about this pitiful crew and their knowledge of the world. Because if they did know who he was, he wouldn’t have been studied and measured in value at all.

“Put him in the brig.” Captain Derek ordered sharply, his handsome face twisting in displeasure.

This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. “Come on Captain, surely that goes against what I could give you in thanks for such a gallant rescue?” He smirked theatrically.

“And gag him!”

Damn, but this man did not take the bait and start a fight. There went Nathanos’ first opportunity to cause a commotion and make them slip before taking over their ship. He’d just have to bear this manhandling for a little longer as they pushed him down the stairs and into a rusty cage no bigger than he was while sitting down. _Interesting_. He thought as they pushed him inside and locked it. _Not a single thing on this ship accommodates the living._

That meant a few things. The first was that they were not taking prisoners, or since he was still kicking, they did not take live ones. The second one was that they did notice he was important but simply did not know how important. The news of increased skirmishes of two major factions had to have travelled far to the pirate havens scattered all across the many seas of Azeroth. Third was that these were slavers, ready to sell him at the nearest port.

In any of these cases, he’d be on dry land eventually and then he could finally find some untattered clothes and continue on his mission for the Dark Lady all the while avoiding Jaina Proudmoore. And tolerate getting a dirty rag shoved down his throat until he had to fight the still surviving instinct to throw up.

He glared at the all too smug pirate and vowed to kill him first.

But for now... more waiting.

***

Derek Proudmoore did not know if he had made the right decision despite his crew excitedly talking about striking gold. That same gold that was in the brig was definitely Horde and thus could potentially bring the wrath of an entire faction down upon them or worse: The Free Nations of the Deep. Now that was something no amount of gold could make up for, especially when he already sacrificed so much to keep them relatively unknown.

“Did you find anything on him when you stripped him?” He asked the Second Mate Paleweather who had just excitedly run up to the deck. “And did not forget to gag him?”

“No worries.” Paleweather pat the assortment of armour and cloth in his hands. “These are all he had on him except a shirt and trousers. Yes--“ He continued before Derek could even open his mouth. “I got his boots off too. Had a nice little dagger in there too.”

“There is every reason to worry.” Derek approached him, his eyes taking measure of the armour. Well made, well taken care of. Same with the coat. The red eyes instead of yellow. This was no Horde foot soldier but someone of note. Unfortunately, due to his own... Affliction as well as a general lack of swiftness of the news when one rarely entered a port, he had but a passing clue on what rank the Forsaken man carried. “We are neither dealing with Goblin trade ships nor living Pirates. He might as well be a general of the Horde as far as we know.”

“A general on one sunken ship?” Paleweather asked sceptically before dumping their prisoner’s things near the bucket and a mop at the far side of the deck. “Looks more like a deserter who fled a battle and was run down by the Alliance. We’ve met plenty of those too, again, mostly Goblins.”

“Keep an eye on him, especially when I am not on the ship.” Derek shook his head as he made his order clear. Paleweather saluted him cheekily before going back beneath the deck, his footsteps quickly becoming lost in the noise of the creaking ropes and wood. Their nameless ship continued its original course south and if he was still living, her Captain would have felt the breeze become warmer, turning from spring to summer.

He missed the cold of his home. In his memories it was still there with his sister and brother excitedly waiting on the docks as father clapped him on the shoulder, reassuring him mother would come too, she was simply busy preparing everything for their return. In his memories Kul Tiras was tall and proud just as he left it. No Theramore. No Daughter of the Sea. No lost ships that a not so little brother commanded. Derek did try and find him but even after all this time all that greeted him at best was the rage of a perfectly natural storm or the quiet of a calm sea. He never set foot on either continent, his fear at what he would find too strong; It permitted him only to hear of grand happenings back in the civilised world.

With favourable winds his nameless vessel reliably carried them to a neutral haven for all who sought it out. Dead Port used to be a ship or so the legends told. It certainly looked like it, propped against sharp rocks with its hull torn open and the guts of docks spilling out. As they approached said docks and manoeuvred around no small amount of fishing ships and battle ready vessels, in came the view of Dead Port’s insides. A mess of buildings made of stone and wood were separated by wild slithering streets and sharp roofs all fighting for space and all leading up upwards into the high stone ceiling that held a society Derek was never privy of nor did he ever attempt to find out. It had three floors and covered the entirety of the Eastside and the Westside of the city. From far away it looked like a fortress on top of a ship’s deck.

He rudely pushed away a torch that was almost shoved in his face by an Undead approaching his newly docked ship. “I know there is no fee, kindly go away.” Even after all these years, the manners drilled into him stopped him from punching the Undead in the face. “We both know how this goes, how about you stop wasting your own time, hm?” Krsd the Lark smirked at him, shrugged his bony shoulder but let him through only after trying to set him on fire once again. All in all, Derek’s arrival went as smoothly as one could hope for in this place.

He turned left towards the stairs leading to the cobbled streets and began his leisure stroll as he tried to remember where was the inn he for which he searched. Things changed quickly in this place, too quickly for his tastes. A mere year was an eternity of changed ownerships, relocated business and renovated houses. _Hanged Richard_ used to be by the docks last time he was here but now all he found was a pen for black market Hawkstriders. An orc suspiciously eyed him as he briefly pet one of the birds before moving on and up.

The inn’s owner was a sly and a backstabbing Gilnean named Swiftspill who escaped Greymane’s bullets once he was turned way back in the day. He and his pack regained enough of their senses to escape the Eastern Kingdoms and find their luck here. Derek assumed that survival instinct is what made him go up in the world of the Free Nations of the Deep. _What a mouthful_. He thought as he tried following a smell of a wet dog. _The dead control these waters yet they indulge in vanity as if they still lived._

Speaking of vanity, the inn was indeed moved upwards on the third level of Dead Port’s Eastside. The sign hanging above it was still the same as was the Tauren guarding the entrance. He gave Derek a nod before allowing him to push the door and walk into _Hanged Richard_. “Boss is here.” All the better then. He hated negotiating with dishonest worgen.

As Derek passed the drunk and singing patrons and moved deeper into the darkness of the inn he easily spotted Swiftspill and was spotted in turn. “Lord Proudmoore.” The worgen growled softly and gestured towards an empty seat at his table. “Now I know you undead don’t keep a good track of time, but I can assure you, it has been a while.” Or in other words, Derek was going to have to pay extra for his services.

“You know I am him no longer.” He said as he took the seat and coolly looked Swiftspill over. The worgen had more grey in his black fur and his braids were longer. His chewed off ear twitched in amusement at his tone.

“Ha!” Swiftspill’s opened jaw held broken fangs. “All too true! Your family wouldn’t have accepted an undead.” A dig that no longer elicited a reaction. “Now.” He took a sip of beer. “What business do you have for me?”

Derek took out the pouch of gold he acquired with great effort and pain, putting three coins on the table between them as if they valued nothing. “The usual.” Asking directly about going-on in the world could only spell disaster and cost him even more money. If you wanted something, you held it close to your chest lest it be exploited.

“The usual, hm?” Swiftspill leaned back, his hand caressing the longer hairs on his jaw that could pass for a goatee. “Well, besides the reignited faction war between Horde and the Alliance and Burning of Teldrassil... Lordaeron fell, though none can live there anymore at all. Two major nations gone, just like that. The Daughter of the Sea was spotted round these waters recently, though the Horde seems to have steered clear of her and focused more north.” His glowing yellow eyes bore into the undead Captain. “I wonder what she could be hunting?”

Derek refused to react. “Who knows? After killing her own father and the Purge of Dalaran, the woman must obey a logic all of her own. Vengeance for a slight or another, you know how it goes.” He waved his hand as if to dispel a stray thought.

The rest of the conversation was very brief and unfruitful and made his dead heart ache at the amount of lost gold. He was saving up for ammunition and some upgrades for his nameless ship but now... Well, he’ll have to hike up the price for the Horde prisoner on his ship. As for the news itself... Jaina’s intentions did not make sense to him at all. They did not ever since he heard that damned shanty played in the ports all around. Even as he collected as much information as he could to find out why exactly did his own sister help murder their father all stories pointed at a very unhappy conclusion. And now she was nearer to him than she ever was but with a possibly addled mind and the Alliance on her side who killed undead with extreme prejudice. At least one could trade with the Horde. The war was bad for the factions, but good for all pirates and unaffiliated like him and his crew. He might find a job that did not involve killing, maybe a...

Before he could react a fist slammed to the side of his head, making him lose balance. Before he could fall down he was hoisted up and slammed face first into a wall between two buildings. _That’s what I get for being deep in thought._ he thought dispassionately as a cool blade was pressed against his throat and a cold human body against his back. He could see the street from this angle and below it the docks but he did not need to risk his neck and turn to see who pinned him. He knew.

“Derek Proudmoore.” a gravely, all too smug voice said in his near. “How nice to meet you at last.”

The prisoner got loose. If he was lucky, his dead crew made enough of a commotion to alert anyone, though the possibility of anyone risking their anything to help would have been close to none. Now that the Forsaken knew his value however, Derek might come out of this alive. Undead. Same difference.

“You were too armoured to be a rogue.” Not that he was now. Derek could tell he was in a common pirate outfit with how unpleasantly close they were. “Hunter?” There was a dark chuckle that held no mirth at his back.

“And you are neither, otherwise you’d have noticed me trailing you and listening in.” The sharp blade was tapped on Derek’s throat as if the Forsaken was thinking. “A warrior then? Do Kul Tirans even have those anymore or is it just sad, incompetent sailors? Would explain how easily you fell in the war. Who brought you back? Surely not one of ours?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Derek craned his neck to look into the red eyes. “Who brought_ you_ back? Those are not the regular undead magic yellow eyes.” He got a shallow stab of the blade for that. To his credit he did not react. “Touchy are we?”

Before his former prisoner could answer, the bells at the docks started ringing almost frantically.

“Alliance!” They both heard surprised shouts from beyond the two walls. “Someone alert the Council!”


End file.
